The recent stampede in Bengaluru, which claimed 11 lives and injured over 50 others during celebrations for Royal Challengers Bengaluru’s IPL victory, is the latest chapter in India’s long and tragic history of crowd-induced disasters. Despite decades of repeated tragedies, our administrative machinery remains reactive rather than preventive. These are not accidents; they are avoidable, predictable, and ultimately man-made calamities born of negligence. India has a pattern—of tragedy, outrage, inquiry, and silence. And that cycle has claimed thousands of lives.
A History Written in Grief
India has witnessed over a dozen major stampedes in the past three decades alone. These events are not random but rooted in structural failures:
1992, Haridwar (Uttarakhand): Over 500 Kanwar Yatra pilgrims died at Har-ki-Pauri ghat, one of the deadliest religious stampedes in independent India.
2003, Nashik (Maharashtra): 39 people perished during the Shahi Snan at the Kumbh Mela.
2005, Mandher Devi Temple (Maharashtra): A stampede amid a fire killed over 300 devotees.
2008, Naina Devi Temple (Himachal Pradesh): 146 pilgrims, mostly women and children, were crushed to death after a landslide rumour sparked panic.
2011, Sabarimala (Kerala): A vehicle accident triggered a stampede, killing 106 devotees.
2013, Ratangarh Temple (Madhya Pradesh): Panic on a narrow bridge killed 110 people during Navratri.
2014, Patna Gandhi Maidan (Bihar): A post-Dussehra crowd surge caused 32 deaths.
2016, Rajghat (Varanasi): 24 followers of a religious sect died in a crowd crush while trying to board a boat.
2022, Vaishno Devi Shrine (Jammu): 12 people died after mismanagement during New Year’s Darshan.
2024, Hathras (Uttar Pradesh): At a religious event of a self-styled preacher, 116 lives—most of them women—were lost.
2025, Bengaluru: In a secular context this time—a sports victory celebration—poor crowd control cost 11 lives.
Each of these disasters revealed the same failures: no risk mapping, inadequate police deployment, lack of barricades, absence of public communication, and non-existent emergency protocols.
Global Echoes
India is not alone in suffering crowd disasters. But the difference lies in the response and reform. Some of the worst global stampedes include:
1990, Mecca (Saudi Arabia): 1,426 pilgrims died in a tunnel crush during Hajj.
2005, Baghdad (Iraq): 965 Shia pilgrims died on the Al-Aimmah Bridge after a bomb rumour.
2010, Phnom Penh (Cambodia): 347 killed on Diamond Island Bridge during the Water Festival.
2014, Shanghai (China): 36 perished in a stampede during New Year’s Eve celebrations.
2022, Kanjuruhan Stadium (Indonesia): 135 football fans died after tear gas induced panic.
In most of these cases, reforms followed: reduced crowd capacities, better-trained emergency responders, upgraded infrastructure, and criminal accountability. In India, reform is promised—until the next tragedy.
Why Don’t We Learn?
This is the central question. Why, after thousands of preventable deaths, does India still lack a national crowd safety policy? The answers lie in our governance culture:
We treat public safety as an afterthought, not a foundation.
Our bureaucracy fears blame more than failure, leading to inaction.
Stampede victims are mostly the poor—the politically voiceless.
Event permissions are often issued under political or religious pressure, bypassing technical advisories.
There is no institutional memory. Inquiry reports gather dust; their recommendations are rarely implemented.
India must treat crowd safety as a fundamental right. This means:
Mandatory crowd management plans for all large gatherings.
Simulation-based training for police and civic officials.
Real-time surveillance using drones and AI-assisted crowd flow analysis.
Fixed caps on attendee numbers based on capacity audits.
Public awareness campaigns on safe exit behaviour.
Most importantly, a statutory authority empowered to enforce penalties for non-compliance and negligent fatalities.
We must learn from the global best practices and stop treating stampedes as acts of fate or divine will. They are failures of human systems.
Our Silence Is Complicity
When a country keeps letting its citizens die the same way—again and again—it is not just negligence; it is betrayal. If we fail to act even now, we are complicit in the next tragedy. India must choose: institutional memory or institutional amnesia. Safety or spectacle. Life or loss. Because the crowd is not the problem. The crowd is the casualty.